Aid and Comfort
by E. Wallace
Summary: The tragic death of a crewman gives Jean-Luc an opportunity to see Beverly from a new perspective.


Disclaimer: Like I need to tell you that Paramount owns the toys.

Aid and Comfort  
By E. Wallace  
1999

Jean-Luc started at the sound of the alarm going off. It felt as though he had just gone to sleep and now it was already time to get up.

A survey mission the day before had ended with a badly damaged shuttle and two critically injured crewmembers. Throughout the evening and late into the night he had been in frequent contact with Sickbay to get updates on their conditions - until Beverly told him to go to bed and let her do her job.

A quick shower refreshed him somewhat, and after dressing, he went to his desk to check the Sickbay report. Ensign Helmick was listed in stable condition, but Lt. Kota, he was saddened to see, had died of his injuries barely two hours ago.

It also confirmed his suspicion that, despite having already been on duty a full six hours prior to the accident, Beverly had only finally left her office within the last few minutes.

Leaving his quarters, he stopped a few doors down. With a sigh, he pressed the chime.

"Go away," came the muffled response.

"Beverly, it's Jean-Luc." Even as he spoke, he thought about using his override - an unnecessary consideration as the door slid open.

The lights were at mid level but it took him a moment to find her standing in the shadow near the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest. In the reflection, he could see how tired she was. Her auburn hair was mussed, a clear indication of the numerous times she had run a hand through it. It was an unconscious action whenever she was worried, puzzled or upset. The dark smudges beneath her eyes accented the paleness of her porcelain skin.

"I'm really not up for breakfast this morning, Jean-Luc. It's been a long night and -" she broke off as he crossed the room, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I know," he said softly. "I've already seen the Sickbay report."

She moved out of his reach, away from the absolution she could so easily give into. She didn't want to be consoled right now. "Daniel Kota shouldn't have died. He was stable... then suddenly everything started going wrong. Nothing we tried worked, and I don't know why." The words tumbled out even as she wished she could take every one of them back, despising herself for appearing weak.

He heard the remorse in her tone - and the self-recrimination. "Beverly, you're one of the best doctors in Starfleet, but sometimes there just isn't anything that *can* be done." He closed the distance between them once more. "I'm sure you and your staff did everything possible."

"That didn't make it any easier to tell his family."

Despite her defensive stance, he wrapped his arms around her, reaching one hand up to smooth her hair. "I understand how you feel. I sent them out there."

Without warning, she jerked free of his embrace, pushing him away. "You don't understand **anything**! You sent them on a mission. They knew the risks and accepted them. They also accepted that if they ended up in Sickbay, I was supposed to save them. One of the best doctors in Starfleet? What a joke." Tears streamed down her face unchecked. "It's **my** fault he's dead! I wasn't **good** enough! I **failed**!" She thumped her chest with her fist, punctuating each sentence.

The words tore at Jean-Luc's heart. How could he have been so blind, never considering it from her point of view? He was usually far from the scene, on the bridge or in his ready room. If the deaths of crewmembers affected him so deeply, how must it be to actually watch it happen?

Beverly raged on. "Know what happens when you make a mistake? We fly a little too close to an asteroid, or the Federation doesn't get the exact treaty they wanted. And yes, some times, people get hurt. But every single time I make a mistake, somebody suffers. Suffers genuine, actual pain. And far too many times my mistakes could cost someone their life!"

Sobs over took her, making speech impossible. Tears burning his own eyes, Jean-Luc pulled her back into his embrace. Although she tried to break away, he refused to let her go, and she finally stopped struggling - it was too much effort, and she was too tired.

After long minutes, she pulled away, wiping her face with one hand and trying to straighten her hair with the other as she turned towards the bedroom. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc, I... I... " she stammered, embarrassment making it hard to form a sentence. "I need to change my uniform and get back to Sickbay."

Gently, he caught her arm and turned her back to face him. "No, you need to sleep; you've been in Sickbay all night. Go take a hot shower and get ready for bed. I'll be here when you come back."

"That's not necessary, Jean-Luc, I can..."

"I said," he interrupted firmly, "I'll be here when you come back. I want to make sure you follow your Captain's orders. Now go on, if you stall much longer, you'll fall asleep in the shower."

Left with no choice other than make a bigger fool of herself, she escaped into the bedroom, feeling his watchful gaze follow her.

oxo

Beverly managed to ignore her humiliation as she stood under the stream of water, blanking her mind of all thoughts and feelings.

Facing herself in the bathroom mirror, however, made hiding impossible.

She always felt so grossly inadequate whenever she lost a patient. Too many people relied on her and when she failed...

It was even worse when surviving family members said they didn't blame her; that they understood how hard she had tried. She only knew that a person was dead because somehow, some way, she hadn't tried hard enough.

Then, to produce that vivid display of her insecurities.

_'Of all people, why did it have to be Jean-Luc?'_ she thought morosely as she dried her hair. _'Couldn't do it in front of Deanna, could you? No, it had to be him.'_ Actually, she wouldn't be much happier if it had been Deanna. This little personality flaw was just too painful to share with anyone.

Now she had to figure out how she was going to face him again.

oxo

Jean-Luc was relieved when she emerged from the bedroom looking more composed as she finished tying back her hair with a lavender ribbon that matched her pajamas. The simple style and her face free of make-up conjured up a fleeting image of what she might have looked like as a child.

With her head bowed while tying the ribbon, Beverly didn't have to look at him, but once finished, she had no choice.

Raising her eyes slowly to his, she was touched to see concern, caring and compassion. There was none of the disappointment in her for her failings, as she had feared. His hazel eyes were gentle and reassuring, and she was warmed by his unspoken support.

Curling up in the corner of the couch, she accepted the offered mug of hot milk as he sat next to her. "I'm sorry for my outburst, Jean-Luc," she said a bit sheepishly. "I shouldn't have done that to you. You didn't deserve it."

The previous emotional explosion had shocked him, but he was just as concerned now because he had never seen her so emotionally drained and fragile. "Beverly, you know I'll help any time you need it, but I admit I am concerned. That display was very out of character for you."

She smiled at him wanly. "No, it wasn't; you've just never seen it before. Unfortunately, on top of everything else, I suddenly remembered I no longer have my usual sounding board to keep me from ripping my friends to shreds."

"Sounding board?" His eyes followed hers to where her fingers were playing with the edge of the blanket lying across the back of the couch. It took him a moment to remember where she had gotten it - and why. "Oh, your grandmother," he murmured, "I'm sorry, I know how much you miss her."

"They say the first rule of good medicine is do no harm, but Nana was the one who taught me the first rule of life is that people die. That's why doctors have to distance themselves emotionally." She tried to blink back the fresh tears that blurred her vision, and her voice was hoarse as she added, "Well, professional detachment be damned, I still hate losing patients."

One tear escaped, and Jean-Luc reached out to brush it from her cheek with his thumb. "That is as it should be. I wouldn't want a CMO - or a friend - who could be dispassionate about death." He took the empty mug from her hand and set it on the table. "You didn't make any mistakes, Beverly..."

"I know," she said, interrupting the pep talk she had already given herself a dozen times. "But second guessing is one of the hazards of the job. Even when I'm sure there were no other alternatives, I feel as though I should have found one anyway."

She didn't resist as he pulled her into the protective circle of his arm but let her head rest on his shoulder.

"I can't take your grandmother's place," he said softly, "but I'm here for whatever you need. Laugh, cry, scream - anything. I'm right here."

She closed her eyes with a sigh, feeling his quiet strength seeping into her. "Thank you, Jean-Luc," she said softly as exhaustion began to overtake her.

They sat in companionable silence until he felt her breathing ease into the slow rhythm of sleep. Ignoring her mumbled protests, he carried her into the bedroom, tucking her in much like the child he had imagined earlier.

Beverly didn't hear him leave for the morning staff meeting, nor did she hear him return immediately afterwards. She didn't know that each time her sleep became uneasy - as it always did after incidents like this - his was the gentle touch that soothed her, his was the voice that calmed her. She only knew, somewhere deep in her dreams, that she felt safe, that the demons could be defeated because she didn't have to fight them alone.

oxo

Jean-Luc watched over her that day, but his thoughts were rarely on the work he had brought with him. He couldn't help but wonder how many times she had done the same for him.

How many times had she comforted him even though he hadn't been aware of it? After the Borg and after Gul Madred, he remembered dozens of tormented nights ripped apart by his own subconscious, but how many nights did he **not** recall because Beverly had been there, making sure his sleep was healing, not harmful? How much did he owe his best friend and was there any possible way for him to repay her?

Guilt pushed him to his feet, away from the safe world of his reports confined so neatly in the padds on the couch. Moving to the viewport, he tugged sharply on his uniform top, silently reprimanding himself.

Repay her?

There was precious little chance of that because he had been appallingly and unforgivably selfish. Of course, Beverly hadn't called him that, but it was precisely what he had been, using her to heal his wounds while never giving a thought to hers.

Falling in love with her the moment they met, he had allowed himself to see only her youthful poise and beauty. The shadow of sadness that occasionally darkened her eyes merely added to her allure and was never questioned.

Learning that she was engaged to one of his best friends had been a cruel blow... and it became the first time he had taken advantage of her generous spirit to heal his wounds. Vowing that he would not let either her or Jack know of his inappropriate feelings, he nevertheless spent as much time in Beverly's presence as possible. He told her bits of his family history, letting her ease his pain without noticing that she never reciprocated with stories of her own childhood.

He hadn't even known until half way through their first year aboard the Enterprise that she had been a part of the Arveda III colony - a little girl living through that terrible tragedy. He had read reports of the devastation at the time, but the Howard name meant nothing to him then. Rereading the files after her revelation, he found Felisa Howard figured prominently while her eight-year-old granddaughter was only a name on the list of survivors.

Recalling the details, he now understood her comment about 'the first rule of life'. She had been surrounded by more death than life during a very crucial period and even now he couldn't begin to imagine how that had shaped her.

He realized she had never gotten over that trauma... a belated realization because, in truth, until now he had never considered her childhood in relation to the person he had breakfast with every morning.

A low moan from the bedroom drew his attention back to the present. Moving swiftly to her side, he leaned over and murmured a few soft words that stilled her restless movement. Brushing stray wisps of hair from her face, he let his hand trail lightly over her shoulder then down her arm. A tender touch so close to a caress...

Straightening quickly, his shifting weight caused him to kick something under the edge of the bed. Keeping a cautious eye on Beverly, he reached for the object. It was a shoe... a tap shoe. Beverly could tap dance? He hadn't known that.

The thought stayed with him as he returned to the sofa. What else didn't he know?

Looking around, he began to see things with new eyes. The books on her shelves - the plays were no surprise of course, but the poetry, philosophy, history... they had discussed these things for years so why was it such a shock to see them, well read and obviously cherished?

Little knickknacks here and there, some he recognized like the theater masks that had been in the apartment she had shared with Jack. The jewel tree on the desk was a recent birthday gift from Deanna, wasn't it? He frowned in puzzlement at not being able to place the rest of it. Then again, he didn't often come to Beverly's cabin.

_'No,'_ he thought disgustedly, _'you always make her come to you.'_

She knew the story behind almost everything in his quarters, never failing to inquire about a new acquisition within days of its appearance.

He looked down at the shoe he still held. It was scuffed, well worn and even mended in places. The taps, however, appeared to be new. Why hadn't she simply replaced the whole thing? Surely she wasn't that attached to an old pair of shoes?

He considered some of the things he used in his hobbies. The archeology tools he'd had for decades... his saddle... the hat and overcoat he wore as Dixon Hill. They were all real, never replicated for the occasion.

What did shoes mean to a dancer?

Selfish? Such a pitiful word to describe the way he had taken her for granted. How could he possibly claim to be in love with her when he had never bothered to learn who she really was?

The thought brought him up short. Could it be that her fear of losing him was only a small part of what kept her from taking their relationship to the next level? Had she seen how he had idealized her, not letting reality interfere with his rose-colored vision? He sat on his precious bridge, secure in the knowledge that his personal goddess reigned over Sickbay, just waiting to save him, heal him, make him whole again whenever necessary.

She should have called him much worse things than selfish.

One thing Beverly did say was that he couldn't understand what it was like to lose a life when saving lives was what you were trained to do. She, on the other hand, had commanded the Enterprise in battle against the Borg - and won.

She knew all about him, his life, and he knew only what he wanted to know about her. She could do his job, and he couldn't perform simple first aid without assistance.

He wasn't aware of going back into the bedroom, but he found himself there, in the chair next to the bed, watching her sleep. She lay on her side, a hand tucked under her cheek, her auburn hair fanned over the ivory satin pillowcase. She was incredibly beautiful... but was that all he had ever seen?

"Oh, Beverly, I've taken you for granted for such a long time," he murmured. "I have a hell of a nerve calling you my best friend, when I've done so very little to return that great favor. I've never been the sort of friend you deserve."

It startled him when she opened her eyes and spoke softly. "You're wrong, Jean-Luc. You have been a good friend to me - when Jack died, with Wesley... any time I've needed you."

"And how often," he countered, "did you not ask for my help, because you knew I wasn't capable of giving it?"

"You, of all people, know how hard it is to ask for help - even from me," she pointed out as she sat up.

"But you push me until I reach a point where I do ask for help. I've never done that for you. Not even today."

"Oh really? Then who was that I tore into this morning? He certainly looked like you."

"That hardly counts, Beverly. If it weren't for your lack of a 'sounding board', you would have simply tolerated my presence until I left. I wasn't even trying to help, I was being patronizing, telling you that I understood any of what you were feeling. I was so pompous and self-centered, it's a wonder you're still speaking to me."

Her gratitude at the tender concern that had brought him here today was turning to anger as he continued to see her not as a woman but as some sort of superior creature. "Stop it, Jean-Luc. I'm not a saint or a martyr or a goddess. I'm no better or worse than most people; I'm just a human being." She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "Take me off that damn pedestal and look at me for once. I've got a nasty temper and a smart mouth, both of which have gotten me into plenty of trouble - even with you."

Reaching over, she took the shoe from his hand and tossed it back under the bed. "I'll admit that some of this situation is my fault. I haven't let you see me in my weakest moments. I knew it wouldn't fit with the exalted image you have of me... but right now I'm sick of hiding, sick of having to be perfect just so you feel comfortable. I didn't want you to feel guilty, but it doesn't really matter what I do, does it? You always find a way to turn it around so that it's your fault. You've never bothered to learn that most things happen in spite of you, not because of you." She got out of bed and moved to the closet, continuing to talk over her shoulder as she pulled out clothes. "You're job here is done, Jean-Luc. Thank you for staying with me, but I'm fine now."

Beverly went into the bathroom without looking back.

oxo

Having dallied long enough to let her brief burst of temper cool, she assumed he would be gone when she came out, but the first surprise was finding him sitting on her sofa. The second was seeing the table set.

"What's this?"

"Dinner, of course," he said, rising to greet her. "It's a bit early, but you didn't have any breakfast and then slept through lunch so I know you're hungry. As a beginning to changing my ways, I've put what little knowledge I have to good use." He held her chair with old-fashioned courtesy then placed a dish in front of her. Removing the cover with a flourish, his smile mirrored hers as she breathed in the aroma of the steaming vegetable soup. "I found your grandmother's recipe in the replicator files."

His heart sank as her sapphire eyes filled with tears. "Beverly, what is it? I didn't mean to make you cry. I hoped it would make you feel a better."

"It does, Jean-Luc," she said with a sniff, as he knelt next to her. "It's one of the best memories I have of Nana. Thank you for thinking of it." She leaned over to kiss his cheek then pushed playfully at his shoulder as she straightened. "Now sit down and eat. Nana's soup is best when it's hot."

He returned her kiss before taking his chair. "Is that a gourmet opinion or a medical one?"

"Both. Sometimes Nana's medicine was simply a good meal for someone who was feeling down."

"Sort of a variation on 'herbal' medicine?"

Beverly grinned at the small joke. "You could say that. She always believed a major part of healing was emotional and that no amount of medicine would work if the patient had given up."

"And there's nothing like a bowl of vegetable soup to soothe the soul?"

"Or a good cry, or a friend that lets you scream at him." She held out her hand, which he took unhesitatingly. "Thank you for this morning, Jean-Luc. I shouldn't have attacked you that way..."

"This morning is over and done," he interrupted firmly. "We both learned a little about each other and ourselves. Let's just take it from there."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze of agreement before returning to her attention to her plate.

Their earlier disagreement forgotten, they chatted easily throughout the meal and on into the evening as Jean-Luc asked question after question about her grandmother.

Beverly never realized he had launched a private campaign to learn everything he could about the woman who had been his friend for more than a quarter of a century, but whom he was truly beginning to see for the first time.

The End


End file.
